Carmina
Catullus
Catullus, Gaius Valerius. The Carmina of Caius Valerius Catullus. Burton, Sir Richard Francis, translator. London, Printed for the Translators, 1894.
- Yet if haply conjoined the same with elm as a husband,
- Tends her many a hind and tends her many a herdsman:
- Thus is the maid when whole, uncultured waxes she aged;
- But whenas union meet she wins her at ripest of seasons,
- More to her spouse she is dear and less she's irk to her parents.
- Hymen O Hymenaeus, Hymen here, O Hymenaeus!
- But do thou cease to resist (O Maid!) such bridegroom opposing,
- Right it is not to resist whereto consigned thee a father,
- Father and mother of thee unto whom obedience is owing.
- Not is that maidenhood all thine own, but partly thy parents!
- Owneth thy sire one third, one third is right of thy mother,
- Only the third is thine: stint thee to strive with the others,
- Who to the stranger son have yielded their dues with a dower!
- Hymen O Hymenaeus: Hymen here, O Hymenaeus!
- O'er high deep seas in speedy ship his voyage Atys sped
- Until he trod the Phrygian grove with hurried eager tread
- And as the gloomy tree-shorn stead, the she-god's home, he sought
- There sorely stung with fiery ire and madman's vaguing thought,
- Share he with sharpened flint the freight wherewith his form was fraught.
- Then as the she-he sensed limbs were void of manly strain
- And sighted freshly shed a-ground spot of ensanguined stain,
- Snatched she the timbrel's legier load with hands as snowdrops white,
- Thy timbrel, Mother Cybele, the firstings of thy rite,
- And as her tender finger-tips on bull-back hollow rang
- She rose a-grieving and her song to listening comrades sang.
- "Up Gallae, hie together, haste for Cybele's deep grove,
- Hie to the Dindymnean dame, ye flocks that love to rove;
- The which affecting stranger steads as bound in exile's brunt
- My sect pursuing led by me have nerved you to confront
- The raging surge of salty sea and ocean's tyrant hand
- As your hate of Venus' hest your manly forms unmann'd,
- Gladden your souls, ye mistresses, with sense of error bann'd.
- Drive from your spirits dull delay, together follow ye
- To hold of Phrygian goddess, home of Phrygian Cybebe,
- Where loud the cymbal's voice resounds with timbrel-echoes blending,
- And where the Phrygian piper drones grave bass from reed a-bending,
- Where toss their ivy-circled heads with might the Maenades
- Where ply mid shrilly lullilooes the holiest mysteries,
- Where to fly here and there be wont the she-god's vaguing train,
- Thither behoves us lead the dance in quick-step hasty strain."
- Soon as had Atys (bastard-she) this lay to comrades sung
- The Chorus sudden lulliloos with quivering, quavering tongue,